


The Weight of Memory

by cedarlover



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Time Loop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarlover/pseuds/cedarlover
Summary: Héloïse had told her she could produce her image to infinity. She didn’t realize it would become so literal.In which Marianne meets Héloïse and paints her. Time and time again. She remembers each time. No one else does.
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	The Weight of Memory

The agony of the goodbye is excruciating. Marianne cannot bear the tension. The knowledge that this is the last time she will hold Héloïse in her arms. She must leave before it becomes too much; before she breaks completely. 

Still, she cannot resist turning around. One last look; in order to burn Héloïse into her memory. 

She holds herself together until she reaches the inn on the mainland. In her rented room she sobs her heart out, vents her rage and pain and sorrow at the unjustness of it all until she is spent. Clutching the miniature to her breast; she falls into a fitful sleep. 

Marianne wakes slowly as weak sunlight streams in through her window and across her pillow. The oblivion of sleep leaves her and before she even opens her eyes the events of the past two weeks come rushing back to her. Héloïse. The anguish of continuing life without her. The comfort of memory. Marianne feels around for the miniature. She had fallen asleep with it cradled close to her chest so it must be tangled in the sheets now. A cursory search of the bed yields nothing. Still, it must be here somewhere. She checks in between the wall and the bed, underneath the mattress, and behind the headboard. No portrait. Marianne grows frantic, cursing herself for her carelessness. The miniature is all she has left of Héloïse; not even a day has passed and she has lost it. Her search is interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Startled into attention Marianne calls out a greeting. It is the innkeeper; informing her that her transport has arrived to collect her. Marianne quickly pulls herself together. It is time to go. She can always paint another portrait when she arrives home. She dresses quickly and then turns to pack up her possessions. They are not as she left them the night before. Even more unusual is the intact canvas tote, which had started its journey to Milan yesterday. Marianne’s brow furrows. This doesn’t make any sense. She strides over to the tote. It is but the work of a minute to open it. Two blank canvases greet her. Marianne stares, not sure what to make of this. Quickly she heads from the room down into the entryway of the inn. Outside she glimpses the boat captain. Odd, it is almost as if…. She turns to the innkeeper. 

“Pardon my asking monsieur, but where is my transport?”

The innkeeper gives her a strange look. 

“Mademoiselle, the boat captain is just outside. You inquired yesterday for someone to take you to the island, and here he is.”

Marianne’s head swims. The next part of her journey was by coach, north to Rouen for another commission, and then back home to Paris. Certainly not back to the island. It is as if…

“Could you be so kind as to remind me of the date Monsieur?”

The innkeeper considers her again before politely replying.

“Of course Mademoiselle, it is the twelfth of October.” 

Time stands still. Yesterday had been the twenty fifth of October. Marianne sways as she considers her position. It must be an apparition, a dream. Some folly laid down for her by a higher being. Time has reset and she is bound once again for the island. To protest will make her seem mad. But why should she question it? Why would she resist? Back to Héloïse she will go. She must play along with it for now at least, at some point she will surely wake up.

The boat ride passes without incident this time. She manages to hold onto her canvases and has no trouble picking her way up the beach path. There are some nerves that appear on her entry into the chateau. Marianne searches Sophie’s face for some sign of remembrance; anything to tell her she is not alone in this endeavor, but there is no recognition. She is isolated in her memory. 

Otherwise Marianne delights in the rediscovery of Héloïse. She pays attention to every interaction, the smallest and most minute details. The days pass like a waking dream. The first portrait is much easier this time around. Héloïse is already burned into every facet of her memory. It takes her a fraction of the time to paint her to satisfaction. This version of Héloïse is made of Marianne’s memories; one where she is tender and smiling. Despite the portrait being better it still infuriates Héloïse. Marianne relishes in the destruction of it. She aches with longing for her, desperate to follow the same path as she had before. Eagerly anticipates what she knows is to come in the second week. 

What follows is as she remembers. Love blossoms and swirls around her. She looks and sketches and paints her fill. A new version of Héloïse takes form on her canvas. Her best work so far. Marianne relaxes into the warmth of her lover’s embrace. Delights in how they are once again able to invent something entirely new and beautiful. She cries with the realization that once more, she will have to part ways with her. Marianne consoles herself with the hope that it will maybe be easier this time. It is not. 

It happens again. Marianne falls asleep missing Héloïse so much it physically hurts. She wakes to the knock at her door and the realization that she must paint Héloïse and love her and lose her all over again. 

If leaving once was agony, leaving time and time again is excruciating. The weight of each successive memory piles on. Each cycle the slate is wiped clean and she is left with her memories and nothing else. 

She starts to rebel against the path. Hoping that if she changes the tread they take, the outcome will be different. She knows she can’t rid herself of the memory of Héloïse, but perhaps she can spare Héloïse the pain of it all. At the very least she can try. 

One time she only stays the first week, just enough time to paint the first portrait. She avoids making inroads with Héloïse. They exchange nothing except the usual glances. Due to the fact that Marianne could paint Héloïse with her eyes closed at this point, the portrait is an exquisite rendering. Even Héloïse cannot find fault with it, other than its existence in the first place. Marianne doesn’t destroy her work and she leaves that same afternoon with the Countess. The pain isn’t any less. She still turns around, allowing herself one last glimpse of Héloïse. Héloïse stands resolute in the room, conflict apparent in every line of her body. There is a question in her eyes; as if she is wondering what could have been between them, if things had been just slightly different. 

Another time she considers deserting the commission. Wakes up in the morning and thinks maybe she should try to return to Paris and put a stop to the memory before it truly has time to start. Despite her initial conviction when the time comes she finds it impossible to summon the strength necessary to follow through. She is drawn to the island, to Héloïse, like a moth to a flame. Over and over and over again.

Memory is no longer a comfort. It has turned into a torment. 

One time the gravity of it all becomes too much to bear. She is fed up with the continual pain of losing Héloïse and decides that anything would be better; whether it be hellfire or eternal darkness, or worse. Given the circumstances she’s not sure what to believe anymore. Marianne leaves the chateau one evening and wanders close to the cliffs. Craving nothing but the oblivion she steps into the air and plummets to the dark sea below. It is blessedly quiet and dark for all of a moment before she awakes again in her rented room. Nothing can stop the cycle it seems, not compliance, not rebellion, and not even death.

After a time the darkness ebbs and Marianne decides to lean into the experience. Take what she can get and enjoy the repetitious weeks with Héloïse and Sophie. Forge new memories to add to her growing collection. While she always has Metamorphoses she takes advantage of the fact that there is a bookseller next to the inn on the mainland and brings a variety of different tomes to the island with her. Over many cycles she is able to delve into every imaginable topic, discussing a myriad of questions about philosophy, art, literature and mythology with Héloïse. One time she brings a chess set and spends an enjoyable cycle teaching Héloïse the intricacies of the game. Sometimes she brings bundles of sheet music and spends the weeks playing her beautiful music, if only to watch the raptured look Héloïse gets while listening to the splendor of the many different concertos, sonatas, and minuets Marianne has learned to play. She drinks Héloïse in on these pleasant cycles; spends time learning her anew again and uses her intimate knowledge of Héloïse to take them to new heights. She knows what delights and surprises Héloïse and how best to avoid conflict when the end of their time is near. In the end it doesn’t lessen the pain of separation. Nothing will it seems.

She still wonders why this is all happening. She still can’t figure out whether it is a punishment or a reward. Perhaps it is neither. Maybe this is the answer to a love that would otherwise be impossible. 

In the earlier cycles Marianne had wondered how the repetition might affect her feelings. If more time would lessen her attachment. The love doesn’t dampen, it doesn’t fade. Even during the dark cycles it is a constant little flicker. If anything the depth of her passion grows stronger and brighter. Even though Héloïse cannot share in all of the memories it is a true joy for Marianne to watch her discover what love is and what it can be, time and time again. It is perhaps what keeps her sane amongst the otherwise trying circumstances.

When she feels bold and daring, she encourages Héloïse to resist. They hatch a plan, try to run away. They leave the portrait on the island and hire a boat to take them away. Marianne is giddy with the thrill of it all and the possibility that this might finally end the cycle. It doesn’t change anything. They make it as far as the mainland. Marianne falls asleep wrapped up in Héloïse and wakes up alone, the innkeeper knocking on her door yet again. 

Over time Marianne is able to discern some semblance of a pattern to her time with Héloïse. While some things change, others stay the same.

Héloïse always swims in the sea.

The phantom continues to haunt her. That horrifying image of Héloïse, dressed in white. It comes and goes as it pleases. One time it appears in Marianne’s rented room the morning of her departure to the island. She sobs at the unjustness of it all. 

Héloïse, in one way or another, always beckons her to turn around; and despite the pain, Marianne always does. 

But no matter what she does, it always ends the same. 

Countless cycles in and Marianne can feel the weight of memory pressing in on her. A physical presence that is so immense it is almost too much to bear. It is comprised of all of the beautiful and wonderful things about Héloïse that she knows and loves and treasures. Their last night together something inside her unspools and the truth of it all floods out. Staring into Héloïse’s eyes Marianne opens herself completely. She tells Héloïse how much she loves her. How much she knows her. How much time has been spent in the pursuit of a perfect ending with her. Rather than panic at this admission, she feels a great calm. There is no plan to hatch and no strategy to try. It is simply an outpouring of all that she feels for Héloïse. It is there and it needs to be said. 

In response Héloïse regards her silently for a long moment. Slowly she reaches out and strokes Marianne’s cheek. Marianne leans into her touch. She can see tears in Héloïse’s eyes. 

“All that time, and no one to share it with?” the question is barely above a whisper. 

Marianne blinks back tears and nods.

“How lonely you must be.” Héloïse muses at her. 

Marianne simply stares back at her; of all the outcomes she had speculated about an eventual admission, this was not one of them. 

“How cruel, of the fates, to treat you in such a way; you are forever alone, cursed to love a memory.” Héloïse has her cradled in her arms now. Marianne’s face pressed against her neck. “We must find a way to set you free.”

Marianne lifts her head, meets Héloïse’s steadfast gaze. “I could spend eternity living these weeks over and over again and I would still find new things about you to love. If loving you is what is keeping me here I will gladly stay.”

Héloïse smiles softly at her. “Be that as it may my love, it is no way to live, and I want you to have a life.”

Marianne relaxes into Héloïse’s embrace. “What are you suggesting then my heart?”

Héloïse kisses the top of her head. “Tell it to me again. I’m sure we can figure it out together.” 

The next morning dawns as it usually does. Bright and foreboding. She sits with Héloïse on their bed, their hands are joined. She brushes her thumb over Héloïse’s knuckles, gives her hand a little squeeze. The room is quiet. There is nothing left unsaid between them. 

Later, she accepts payment for the portrait. She allows the boat captain to collect her belongings. She says goodbye to Sophie. She hugs Héloïse goodbye. Holds her close. Thinks hard on the words they exchanged the night before. The promises they made. 

For the first time, she does not look back. 

She awakes in the rented room. She’s done this what feels like a thousand times. It has always been the same. She lies in bed and waits for the knock of the innkeeper. It doesn’t come.


End file.
